


The Family Legacy

by bamboozledbylife



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Child Abuse, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, The Gangs All Here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 00:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15207149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamboozledbylife/pseuds/bamboozledbylife
Summary: Family was an interesting term, one that almost certainly did not apply to them. Strangers connected by blood. Enemies, with emotional stock. Liars, cheaters, abusers. Every label better than family, but none as concise, so family they were.An examination of the Zoldyck family and the toxic environment they learned to breath in





	The Family Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr bamboozledbylife

Family was an interesting term, one that almost certainly did not apply to them. Strangers connected by blood. Enemies, with emotional stock. Liars, cheaters, abusers. Every label better than family, but none as concise, so family they were. 

The Zoldyck’s were irregular, no one could argue otherwise. They were a family, because to be anything else would be dangerous. Dangerous to their name, their reputation, their legacy. A stifling, oppressive crown, passed from head to head like a gift. Never addressed as the burden it remained.  
~~~

Silva was the only son of an only son, and when he brought a girl home at age 16, his father raised no complaints. She was strong and agile. Clever and ruthless. Something crawling in her veins, living just beneath her skin, set Zeno’s teeth on edge. He was wary, but his son thought himself in love. She would be his wife, and Silva would hear no differently.  
Kikyo was a guest in their home, officially. A young woman who could spend ten lifetimes in a library. Silva was valiant and kind, her personal Prince Charming. He saved her from a city she hoped to never see again. She learned too late she traded one prison for another. A gilded cage for an ivory tower.

It was lonely, to be her. Silva had responsibilities, duties that demanded his attention. None of them involved her. He was still young, still impressionable, still training. She was training too, learning the skills to be an assassin, all to be his wife. To be worthy enough to bare his children.   
Physical barriers separated her from her husband, language barriers separated her from the butlers. She wrote letters to throw away. New secrets searing into her flesh. The foundation of decades of resentment, every ounce aimed outwards.  
In three years she could count the days spent with Silva on two hands. Every occasion to see him was new and exciting. A romance artificially maintained, already on life support before the wedding vows. Neither could see the danger, blinded by the sun of themselves.

Before she knew it, she was married. Before she knew it, she was pregnant. The heir to the family business, the baby who was to be their future. Their world. A son with any luck, sure to be stronger than his father. Sure to be, because Kikyo was his mother. Seventeen and pregnant, seventeen and married, seventeen and in love. The first winds of the perfect storm.

Labor was a joke. To be trained as she'd been, the pain was a mere itch. Blessed beyond belief, she indeed had born a son. A beautiful son, healthy and perfect. Silva held the infant in his arms and named him Illumi. Black eyes, black hair, a portrait of the mother disappointed that he was.

If you asked Kikyo, Illumi’s first mistake was being born. He cried weakly, stopping when soothed by his mothers arms. She looked at the babe in disgust, disappointed in the weakness of his character. She fed him, the poison in her veins coursing through his; ironic if she'd have understood.  
The gift of a first born son was lost in his actual arrival. He slept on her chest and in the space she anticipated maternal attachment to lay, instead she found a desert. The baby was passed off to a butler, to be rested somewhere out of sight. Illumi’s first mistake would be spending a lifetime trying to win the approval he'd lost mere seconds after birth.   
His second mistake was not realizing that truth.

He had been a sweet baby, a parents dream. The butlers had adored him then. Such a lovely young master. Rarely fussy, always calm. He cooed when held, giggled when poked. He waved and blew kisses, gestures taught by the butlers. His mother’s dissatisfaction grew with every day.   
So what if they started his training a little young? So what if they started strong? Poison immunity was important. Pain tolerance was important. Pinching the baby until he cried would break him of his awful habits. His dreadful softness. Some babies are just colicky, you couldn't prove it was the nightshade.

For the first time since they'd met, their schedules were aligned. Free time was spent with their son, monitoring his instruction. Bruised and beaten, lacerations on his legs and arms. Hardly well enough to train, too sickly to play. A two year old who cried all day and slept fitfully at night. His parents were convinced the only thing wrong with their methods was their son. The only thing wrong with Illumi was his parents.

Somehow, like this, they discovered that they hated each other. Kikyo and Silva Zoldyck despised one another so deeply it ran like magma through their marriage, bubbling to the surface when least convenient. The ash, the smoke, the lava, the fall out destined for the only third party. Illumi carried the brunt, long before he'd be old enough to feel the scars running through his flesh.  
His father starts leaving more and more, taking longer and longer jobs. Anything to avoid his wife. Space to breath, to plan. Silva had already set his grand design upon another son ten years before his prodigious soldier would live. 

The Zoldyck mansion was twisting and cold, skeletons not just is the closets but supporting the drywall. Ghosts in the timber. It's just Illumi and his mother, butlers in the wings. He was not to leave her sight, not without permission. She taught him her native tongue, something neither Silva nor Zeno spoke with any fluency. She would talk to him while he writhed in pain at her feet, words oscillating between encouraging and scornful.   
He loved his mama, he had no one else. Alone defined him. Of all the specters in the mansion, he was the liveliest. In the stone halls his footsteps reverberated from the walls, punishing him without a single thought.   
The pitter patter of little feet, a steady thump like the heart beat of childhood lost. The echoes of a childhood ruined. He runs the dim halls, a gauntlet of disturbed shadows and anxieties amplified. He sprints when he is able, and after a time he is silent as death. Scared as he's ever been, every time. Driven forward by the fear, the agony, the loss, that nip at his heels. He pushes them down to a place darker than his home, leaves them where they won't upset his mama.

He is five when his grandfather expresses his concern. When he mentions that the child isn't right. He is closed off and callous. Bitter in a way that should be impossible. The once kind soul now tethered to his bones. He is angry for reasons he can't place, the manifestation of feelings long since gone. He doesn't cry anymore. He hasn't for a while. The butlers don't like him, but neither do they blame him. They shake their head at Kikyo, disgust palpable when she turns her back.

When he is seven there is another baby. His parents reconciled for as long as it took to conceive. A second son, solidly built. His father names this one Milluki, and Illumi loves him, he thinks. He doesn't feel so alone anymore. Kikyo doesn't care for this one either. She says she can feel it, his weakness. Worse than the first.

Milluki’s training is a joke. He runs and cowers in fear, no matter what they do. He almost dies more times than any of them can count. He confuses Illumi, and their mama tells him not to talk to Milluki anymore. None of them are to talk to Milluki until he is a good boy, until he listens. Illumi doesn't talk to Milluki for almost seven years.

By the time Milluki reaches ten they will have given up on him, and Kikyo won't care who talks to him. By the time they may speak again, Illumi doesn't remember his name. By the time they may speak again, he has a different responsibility. Milluki is just another burden on their family.

When Illumi is twelve there is a third son. His parents have a plan this time. They will have three children as quickly together as they can. One of them will be better than the other two. They needn't pretend to be husband and wife after that. The vitriol will temporarily regain its potency, tempered only by distance. There is distance aplenty on the family estate.

Kikyo loves this new baby. He shrieks like a wild beast, and she's in awe of his strength. The affection Illumi and Milluki never managed to draw out of her surfaces. This baby was what Illumi should've been. This will be their heir, the next two children will be the safety net.   
Silva holds his newest son with more reverence than he's ever felt, and names him Killua. Killua will be the inheritor of a plan made long before his birth. Something that belonged to him only by coincidence. It could've been any of them, if they’d been good enough.

Illumi loves this one, he's certain. His parents love Killua like they've never loved him, and the pangs of jealousy are smothered, snuffed like a lit match. He drowns his envy in obligation. Killua looks like Silva, bright blue eyes and fluffy white hair. He is Silva’s favorite from the start.  
Silva informs him that this baby will be different from him and Milluki. Their dad will raise him, and Illumi will help. Their mother will mind her own damn business. She will not teach Killua a language he will never use. She will not ruin Killua. Illumi doesn't think he's been ruined, but clearly his father knows better. He tucks that thought to his chest, ties it beneath his heart.

Killua is eight weeks old when Kikyo gets pregnant again. Illumi doesn't know what a mother does with a baby besides feed it, doesn't know what he's supposed to do for Killua. One butler suggests he read to him. Another suggests peek a boo. Killua likes these things, falling asleep as Illumi reads, laughing when Illumi disappears behind his hands.   
Illumi has never made someone laugh before. He watches Killua sleep sometimes, and wishes that he never grows up. That he can be small and happy forever, that Illumi can make him laugh.

Alluka is eleven months younger than Killua, thirteen months older than Kalluto. The next two babies are born with no pomp, no grandeur. They're extras, sprinkles on a frosted cake. Forgotten as they're born. Remembered when they're inconvenient.   
Kalluto is never inconvenient, learns to fade into the background, imagines himself as a chameleon. Alluka is always inconvenient, too willful from the start. Alluka is their only daughter, forced to act as a son. Kalluto isn't sure he's their son either, but for now he ignores that itch.  
Illumi loves them too, but they don't need him. Not like Killua needs him. Alluka and Kalluto have mother, and she has them. She has them and Milluki, because father needs him to help Killua. It’s like a breath of fresh air, but he could never place why.

Killua grows because he must, no way short of death to freeze the hands of time. He's cute as a button, sweet as honey. Given room to mature, only the pretense of freedom. Alluka takes after her big brother, saccharine sweet. The perfect partners in crime.   
Killua’s softness is a liability, Alluka’s can be overlooked. Killua is broken with care, a planned demolition. Illumi learns early on he's meant to be the bad guy. ‘The bad cop’ so to speak. A poor surrogate for a second parent. A child raising children, almost the age his mother was when she had him.  
Killua is three when Silva officially makes his decision. He tells Illumi first, not Kikyo. Illumi dutifully accepts, not a hint of anger or indignation. Honestly, there isn't any. It's so relieving, for the son who's never been good enough to be told that it doesn't matter any more. Killua is his purpose now, the rightful heir.

Killua's world falls apart when Alluka’s does. Something clings to her form, lives in her breath. She can't control it, and it hurts people. Alluka doesn't hurt people, but she has spent a life being hurt. It loves Killua as she does, but it isn't so kind to the rest. From who else has it known kindness?  
She's locked in the basement, a truly gilded cage. Alone in a way Illumi empathizes with. He's not to talk to her, like Milluki all those years ago. If he knew what sadness felt like anymore, he may have recognized it. His parents call her ‘it’ now, a thing instead of a sibling. They've always known better. He will forget it as best he can.

Killua doesn't forget. He can't. Alluka means something to Killua like Killua means something to Illumi. Illumi can't make him laugh anymore, can't make him smile. His parents are no more successful. They try and force Kalluto to fill the gap, but he cannot. They hurt both children in the process. It's not up for discussion, like everything else.

Suddenly Killua can't focus. He's listless and empty. Blank. He doesn't eat, he doesn't sleep. He cries in a way he hasn't in years. Nothing interests him anymore. Silva tells Illumi to help his brother, to force him to forget. A single needle, placed directly between his eyes will do the trick.

Suddenly Killua is alive again. He's a shadow of who he used to be, the joy replaced with anxiety and frustration. He can feel the memories just out of reach. He knows they taunt him, even though he can't know. His dreams are cloudy, vague nightmares.  
He hates his training. The seed of resentment planted in his mother two decades ago sprouts in him. It finds a target in Milluki, who cannot fight back. It finds a target in his mother, who would never brutalize him as she could. He hides the way he feels about Illumi, stashed under the fear. 

Illumi knows Killua is afraid of him. But he’s sure Killua loves him still, he must. Illumi was afraid of his parents at Killua's age, he loves them still. He doesn't recognize that he doesn't have the capacity for love, not anymore. He could, but to love, one must feel. Illumi doesn't feel. If he felt, he'd have to acknowledge that he was angry, that he hated his parents.  
The seed of resentment in Illumi was a tree, carefully nurtured in a way he'd never been. Tall and branching, as connected to him as his spine. It grew through his throat, suffocating him while he slept. Growing more and more difficult to speak around.

Killua felt like Illumi couldn't, and so Killua hated in a way he couldn't. So he ran in a way Illumi never would've dared. Kikyo told Illumi to pursue, and he did. A grown man still bent to his mother’s will when she wanted him to be.

Milluki and Kalluto bonded in the most unexpected of ways. Milluki was as forgotten as Kalluto felt, and his room became a haven to them both. The house was empty without Illumi, Killua, or Alluka, and constricting with them. Theirs was not a happy home. The wailing in the rafters, the screaming in the walls, permanently imprinted from generations of parents torturing beloved children.  
Kalluto envied Alluka, Killua actually missed her when she left. No one hurt her, not anymore. Kalluto tried to be strong, to impress his parents, to get Illumi and Killua’s attention. Illumi cared sometimes, but not often. Kalluto didn't feel strong, he felt scared, he felt alone. He sits on Milluki’s floor and cries, and they both pretend not to notice.

 

~~~

A family of assassins who's legacy was not their trade, not their expertise. It was not the face they presented for clients. It was not the bodies left in their wake. It was the pain, the fear, the destruction, passed down from terrible parent to defenseless child.  
Killua wasn't the first to run, but he was the first to get away. He'd take his little siblings with him, god willing.

(Actually, never mind. God had never helped him before, he wouldn't plead now. God would take no part in this equation, and Killua would rip his siblings from the jaws of death. No one would hurt them, not again.)

Killua was the Zoldyck heir, and he would shred his family inheritance if it killed him. The legacy ends with them, no two ways about it. They may not be the last generation of Zoldyck’s, but they will be the last to live and suffer in that house. To feel like strangers in their own skin. It was a promise he'd made to his parents, but they didn't know that yet.


End file.
